


but reconciled among the stars

by erlkoenig



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, My Slashy Valentine 2018, Slow Burn, and a myriad of emotions in between, from Fellowship of the Ring until post Return of the King, from sass to friends, in which chess becomes both a metaphor and a means of flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 07:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13608807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/pseuds/erlkoenig
Summary: His shadow moved silently, walked lightly as not to disturb the leaves that had fallen as autumn’s touch had descended upon Imladris and shaken them from their branches.Under the shade of the oaks in the Valley, Elrohir and Legolas begin their own story.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arafinwean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arafinwean/gifts).



> For Arafinwean, who asked for Legolas and Elrohir with a happy ending. I hope you enjoy, my dear!
> 
> Title taken from TS Eliot's _Burnt Norton; Four Quartets:_  
>  _but reconciled among the stars_  
>  _at the still point of the turning world_  
>  _...there would be no dance, and there is only the dance_  
>  _I can only say, there we have been_

He was being followed; had been for some time now, though he could not be sure he suspected it was even before he had stepped into the forest. His shadow moved silently, walked lightly as not to disturb the leaves that had fallen as autumn’s touch had descended upon Imladris and shaken them from their branches. He might not have known for some time yet, had not an errant rustle against the wind given away his shadow.

The forest might not be his own, but he spoke its language all the same.

Some guard perhaps, but even a guardsman would give up the hunt after a while or call out, there was no need for suspicion; no this was a _game_. But he had no mind for games, not with his thoughts so heavy with ill-tidings and iller news.

“Will you follow me all the way across the mountains then?” He called at last, and from above him he heard a weight settle onto a low branch.

“I might, were you going that way. I would wonder why Legolas Thranduilion would flee my father’s halls when he had only just arrived.”

He spun then, eyes wide as he looked up into the trees.

“They say the son of the King of Eryn Galen is as stubborn as his father.”

“And they say that the sons of Elrond are so alike that perhaps there is only one, and that your brother is naught but a story.”

The elf snorted, “In face and feature, but that is where I differ from Elladan. Do your legends at least give our names?”

Legolas felt his face heat at that, and he looked away. “Of course. My father speaks kindly of your house, Elrohir. Though it would seem that kind words are not reciprocated here.”

“On the contrary,” Elrohir said with a wry sort of laugh, “But I do not know you well enough to repeat them, save some tale my father tells of your last and only visit here so long ago that I suspect neither of us can recall it.”

“I remember the forest, the pines and the oaks.” Legolas said, reaching idly, absently, to touch his fingertips to the wide, dark trunk of the oak tree beside him. “I remember your father’s house in snatches of white stone and half-dreams. But you are right, I do not properly remember coming here with my father as a child, it was only once.”

“And when you do return, you come to us with a face full of shadow and troubles weighing your steps.” Elrohir dropped gracefully from the branch, coming to stand before the prince. “What has bespoiled the cheer of our Silvan kin.”

“You know well what troubles me,” Legolas snapped. He had sought out the peace of the forest, to be left alone with his thoughts and now it seemed he would not be granted even that kindness.

Silence fell between them, as if Elrohir took pity upon the other elf for all his teasing. “And you think by going with the Ringbearer, it will somehow atone for the creature Gollum’s escape?”

Legolas huffed a sigh at that, jaw clenched tight. “I am doing no more and no less than what my father would do, were he here.”

Elrohir raised his hands at that, but a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “As you say.” He said, “But surliness and sulking is unbefitting for a prince. Shall we walk together, and we shall talk of other things perhaps? I can show you my forest, and you can tell me how your home is vastly superior.”

He tried not to, but a laugh escaped him. “Very well, but you must promise to not be too jealous.”

“I shall endeavor to do my best.” Elrohir teased, but the tension that had been between them seemed to fade, not entirely friendly, but rather a warm sort of cordiality.

They walked in silence for a while, each left to their own thoughts and yet they found them drawn to the other, each wondering about the elf at their side. 

“You were not at the council,” Legolas said at last, soft as a whisper as if loathe to break the quiet of the woods. Elrohir did not slow his step, merely shrugged.

“I was not required, and I had other plans.”

“You were looking for the riders.” It was not a question.

“That was one reason.”

“And another?”

Elrohir watched him out of the corner of his eye, weighing his words carefully. He seemed so much like his father, like Elrond in that moment, dark and serious, a young lord of Imladris -- though that was where the similarities seemed to end.

_He must take after his mother in face,_ Legolas pushed the thought away with a frown. What did he care, after all?

“You arrived unannounced at a time when dreams and riddles drew others here as well, I had--” Elrohir sighed, “It was merely a sort of misgiving. And in a way I was right.”

Legolas' frown deepened. “About your misgiving?”

“You said that orcs attacked your people.” Elrohir said, spitting the word like poison.

“You fear an attack as well?”

“I fear they are growing bolder, and I was right.”

He was angry then; he wanted to defend his people, his father’s decision not to push the hunt for Gollum further than he had. He wanted to argue that the creature had been all but dumped upon their doorstep with very little explanation but he did not have the words, debate did not come easily to him and all his words would just come up with anger, would shatter this tentative easiness, but that tension was back. They could feel it between them, crackling like the approach of a summer storm.

“You have to understand--”

“Of course.”

“You are angry--”

“Not at all.” He snapped, and his pace quickened, stepping ahead of Elrohir now as if trying to leave the other elf behind.

“--and very rude.”

“Say what you mean then.”

“I have.” Elrohir stopped then, hands on his hips as he watched Legolas walk another few paces, stop, and reluctantly turn to him. “Now you should return the favor.”

“You have told me nothing of your forest.”

Elrohir blinked, wrinkled his nose in confusion and Legolas bit back a bark of laughter at it. “I--what?”

“You said you would tell me about your forest and I would tell you about my home and yet it seems you have only come to bother me and start an argument. You have succeeded in both and in doing so, made yourself a liar.”

Elrohir’s mouth opened, closed, and then he pointed angrily at Legolas. “You--”

“Yes?”

“Will you stop interrupting me?”

“Perhaps when you say something that interests me.”

Elrohir scoffed loudly, the sound echoing through the trees and fading until it sounded almost like laughter from far away. Legolas covered his mouth, hiding a grin.

“I think,” Elrohir said slowly, “we have started off rather poorly. Shall we try this again?”

“Diplomacy is it now?” Legolas lowered his hand, still grinning broadly. “Does this mean then that I am right, but you will not say as much?”

Elrohir closed his eyes, pressed his fingers to his temples and took a breath. “And to think I once doubted the stubbornness of our woodland kin.”

“So say you, who has lost his own game of words.”

“Shall I leave you with the trees then?”

 Legolas shrugged, but at the suggestion his attention turned to a cluster of beeches growing together, their branches so tangled that the sunlight filtered down in fiery golds and reds, flickering here and there as the leaves swayed in the gentle breeze. It was beautiful, different in ways from how the sunlight would dance upon the ground in his own forest and the homesickness squeezed tight upon his heart. He did not hear Elrohir leave, did not see the way his expression had gentled a moment before he turned to leave him as quietly as he had come.

 


	2. Chapter Two

The knock came late in the evening, long after dinner, after wine by the fire and and after songs had been sung, when most everyone had retired to their rooms for the night. 

Legolas had been turning over a letter, still unwritten even in his own mind, to his father. He would need to tell him, to explain his absence.  _ Come home quickly,  _ Thranduil had said, had made him promise.  _ Come home quickly. _

He knew he would not be home for some time. His father needed to know.

He hesitated at the door, thought that he might pretend to be out, or even asleep, but against his better judgement he opened the door.

His shoulders slumped, but in spite of the irritation that pulled at the corners of his mouth, narrowed his eyes, he felt a flutter of some emotion deep in his chest as if somehow, secretly -- even to himself -- he was glad to see the face that greeted him.

“I half expected to have to search for you up a pine.” Elrohir said, inviting himself in to Legolas’ guest rooms. There was a box tucked under his arm and in his other hand he held a bottle of wine. “I was beginning to fear that you were  _ avoiding _ me, but I know that surely cannot be the case.”

“It was not.” Legolas said,  _ please, do come in. _ He shut the door a little harder than he meant to. “But I have had no reason to seek you out.”

“Yes well, I think I might remedy that. Fancy a game? No words this time, I promise it.” There was a mischievous glint in Elrohir’s eyes and a grin upon his fair face. He set both the box and wine down upon a low table and pulled two chairs up to it. “You know how to play chess, I presume?”

“I do not.”

Elrohir faltered then, looking up at him as if he had been slapped. “You -- what?”

“I never cared for such things.”

“Your father never taught you?”

“He might have tried once or twice, but like I said, it was not of interest to me.”

Elrohir reached for the wine, uncorked it and searched about the room for glasses. “My father told me that he and your father played often in Lindon.”

“Well that was them.” Legolas retrieved a glass from the little desk in the corner of the room, drained the dregs of it and held it out to Elrohir who wrinkled his nose at it a moment before taking it.

“Do you have another?”

“I did not expect company. We can share.”

Elrohir quirked an eyebrow, looking for a moment as if he was beginning to regret this decision. “I am trying to make an effort here.” He said, as Legolas peered curiously at the box.

“Then you should have come prepared.” He pulled the box closer to himself as he sat down heavily in the chair. “So, chess. How is it played? What sort of wager do you propose?”

“Wager?”

It was Legolas’ turn to look annoyed. “Yes, wager. Do not tell me there is nothing to be gained from the game.”

“Victory.”

“And?”

Elrohir drummed his fingertips on the table, considering. “I feel as though we have much to learn from each other.”

“Perhaps, but I do not play for quips or advice.”

“What do you play for then?”

“Wine usually, but since you are giving it away,” he reached for the uncorked bottle and took a swig from it, much to Elrohir’s dismay. “Something else then. I cannot bet duties here, so perhaps a trinket.” He touched a simple silver ring, the only adornment he wore, a tangle of a leafy vine that wrapped around his finger. “I would hope you are not the sort to  _ cheat. _ ”

"How dare you.” But Legolas cut him off with a laugh. Elrohir hesitated, and after a moment, unclasped the jeweled star-shaped  brooch at his throat and placed it on the table between them. 

“Well then,” Legolas said, removing his ring and setting it down as well. “Set the board.”

“Do you really want to make a wager when you do not even know how to play?”

“I have been told I am a fast learner. Set the board.”

Elrohir unpacked the game, naming each piece as he set it upon them upon the board: soldiers, kings, queens, advisors, castles, riders.

“Black moves first.” He said, and after a moment, reached to turn the board around. “I prefer the silver pieces, but --”

Legolas reached for a soldier piece, and slid it two spaces forward on the board.

“I thought you did not know how to play.”

“I have watched my father once or twice.”

“Now who is the liar?”

“It is still you by last count, and I believe it is your move.”

Elrohir tapped his fingers again and reached for his piece. The game was on.

They played in silence save for when Elrohir would correct a move that Legolas had made -- “No, the advisors can only move diagonally”. The black pieces stacked next to the board, fallen in battle, where only three of the silver soldiers had been taken.

“Have you reconsidered?”

“I stand by my wager.”

“No,” And Elrohir looked up at him earnestly, holding a castle loosely in his hand. “Going with the ringbearer.”

“Why would I?”

“Will your father not worry?”

“You wish to take my place.”

Elrohir sighed then, moved his piece across the board. “My father is set in his thoughts, nine companions to balance the nine Riders, and my brother would never forgive me if I went without him, so it does not matter if I would replace you, it is impossible in any way.”

“You do not strike me as someone who would simply stand aside and wait for fate to come to you.”

“No,” He said, not looking at Legolas now. “You have left your king open.”

“So I have.”

“Risky.” Elrohir moved his queen from behind her advisors. “Perhaps I did mean the wager.”

Legolas moved another soldier, but said nothing.

“I do not know yet what I will do.” Elrohir’s voice was tight. “You are right, I am not the sort to sit on my hands and wait, but the answer does not lie in rash actions.” His queen claimed another piece from the board, but Elrohir found that he was now loathe to claim such a quick and sure victory.

“Is that a stab at my playing?”

“Not at all.” He said, watching as Legolas reached for his last advisor. Without thinking he caught the other elf’s wrist, stopping him. “Let me make a suggestion,” and released to point to the board. “Move this one, your castle takes my castle.”

“And leaves my castle open to your rider.”

“If I wish to take it, I may not. But you would have left your king open.”

Legolas considered him then, not the board or the pieces or his advice but rather Elrohir himself, silver eyes staring at him as if looking for something. At last he moved his castle, claimed Elrohir’s.

And was swiftly claimed by Elrohir’s rider.

“Just as I thought,” but there was a smile behind his words, playing on his lips. Legolas took the wine again, took a long drink of it and held it out to Elrohir who did not even think to wipe the mouth of the bottle, found he did not care as he drank deeply.

The game did not last much longer, and in too few turns Elrohir’s queen had at last cornered Legolas’ king.

“Fair is fair.” Legolas held out the brooch and the ring, “I keep my wagers.” He said when Elrohir hesitated.

“Two out of three?” And at that Legolas quirked an eyebrow.

“You enjoy beating me then.”

“Nay, that is not it at all. I promised to teach you, and at the risk of disturbing the peace, I find we are getting along for once.” Another pull of wine, and when he passed the bottle back their fingertips touched, bumped almost clumsily against each other.

Three games became five became seven and soon the sun was rising over the valley, soft gold that crept across the balcony and through the windows, spilling into the room.

“Galion found me up a tree the next day—“

“—but of course he did—“

“—flowers still in my hair, though the petals were all but gone and my shirt was all ripped from my drunken climbing. I have never seen him so angry and so relieved,” Legolas laughed, loud and bright, “Legolas when your father hears of this!” He cried, mimicking the Silvan steward’s speech.

“My brother and I would get up to nonsense during festival season as well, though I must admit there were fewer trees involved.

“How often did you pretend to be the other?”

Elrohir laughed then, lighter than he had felt in many days, not since the shadow had begun to creep ever darker and ever closer. “Oh all the time and to this day, though it never fooled my father or our sister. In fact, all this time you have thought I was Elrohir, but it is actually I, Elladan.”

“Hm,” Legolas rapped a finger to his chin. “A terrible effort and you have given yourself away for the jest. All the same, I would know it was you and not your brother.”

“Oh?” And Elrohir felt his face flush slightly, a stain of soft red across his cheeks that darkened the freckles there.

“Your brother is much more agreeable.”

“And here I thought we were getting along.” The wine was long gone, the sun had risen fully, and he should take his leave. Still, he lingered, found himself not wanting to leave, not yet.

“You still have not kept your promise.” Legolas said idly, picking up a chess piece and turning it over in his hand.

“Promise?”

“To tell me about your home.” A hesitation, quick and loud as a heartbeat. “Unless you would rather be going—“

Elrohir stood then, nearly upsetting his chair but he held out his hand. “Let us go for a walk then, I will not abide by a promise unkept.”

Legolas looked first at his face, to his hand and then back again. He rose as well, careful, and placed his hand in Elrohir’s.

“Alright.”


	3. Chapter Three

December seemed to come too soon, and yet the press of the Enemy ever closer bid them to make haste, that they might have even tarried too long. 

In the morning they would leave, what came as strangers departing as a Fellowship and the knock that came just before sunrise did not surprise Legolas this time.

“It is nearly time to leave,” Elrohir said, shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying for words that simply would not come to him. He held out his hand, unfurled his fingers and held out Legolas’ ring, the silver thing he had won from him so many days ago and yet it had seemed a mere blink in time to him now. “You may hold to your wagers, but this is yours.”

“Fair is fair,” Legolas said, gently curled the other elf’s finger over it again. “My friend, there will be time enough for me to win it back.”

Elrohir felt his voice stick in his throat, he was not one for sentiment and yet there was a part of him that wished he had brought something, some trinket to slip onto Legolas’  hand or to braid into his hair. Something small and lovely to pull a promise that there would be time, time enough for them, when this was over.

But he had not foresight, not for this and not for the long days that stretched ahead of them in miles and miles disappearing into a horizon so far away.

“I swear it—“

“Do not.” Elrohir snapped, his father’s wisdom a hollow echo in his mind and his heart.

“Have faith.” Legolas said,and they knew it was time to leave. He pressed the ring deeper against Elrohir’s palm, and then touched his fingers to Elrohir’s face. “We will have much to talk about when we see each other again, I think.”

Some trinket, and in a surge of impulse, something born in the crossfire of hope and desperation stepped close —  _ too close —  _ and pressed a kiss to the corner of Legolas’ mouth.

“We shall see each other soon, I feel.” Elrohir said, though he did not know the meaning of the weight that settled deep into his chest, a comfort for all its heaviness.

With the dawn, Elrohir watched him leave.


	4. Chapter Four

“I told you we would see each other again soon.”

Legolas turned at the sound of his voice, a soft smile on his lips. He had been nursing the same cup of wine the whole evening, a sort of restless energy brewing within him that refused to fade. “So you did, but I must admit that I was surprised to see you when I did.”

Elrohir pushed away from the stone wall with a chuckle. “I thought you might like that, appearing at the midnight hour to follow you and what remained of your company on some fool’s errand into the Paths of the Dead.” He tossed his hair, unbound and spilling loose over his shoulders. “I like to consider myself a dashing sort of hero for it.”

“You do not.”

Elrohir laughed at that, it echoed gently over the stone and Legolas turned away, grinning with the sound it it. 

“You are right, but there is a sort of gallantry to it.” He moved closer to Legolas, his feet drawing him closer and closer that he could not turn away even if he had wished to. “They are going to write songs about you.”

“Who is they?”

“You know,” and Elrohir gestured out towards the crowd of revelers, the bards and the dancers, the drinkers and the party-goers, celebrating more than they even knew: their king, the end of the war, another bright, new day. “Them.”

“Eloquent, and to think I feared to make a fool of myself in front of you so long ago.”

“Has it been so long?” He said, the sounds of the party fading into nothing more than white noise. It all came back in a rush, seeing Legolas again and then seeing him, the way he stepped so assuredly through the Door into the Paths of the Dead; and all he had seen, and he had journeyed through before and all that came after. It made his heart race with something that whispered about all the time in the world and reached with trembling fingers for all the time they could have had before had their paths been different. “I would not change it, lest we never end with this.”

“What?” 

“Nothing,” Elrohir said, reaching out to touch Legolas’ face, an echo of long ago and yet not so long. He laughed in spite of himself, a half-stifled thing and then he was leaning close, not for the corners of his lips but something soft, sweet, nearly chaste, a brush of his lips against Legolas’. 

“Hm,” Legolas said, “That did not feel like simply nothing.”

“It was not.” He said, taking the half-forgotten glass of wine from Legolas’ hands and took a drink. The silver ring glinted in the low candlelight, and Legolas looked from it to Elrohir’s face, a look of wonder, of curiosity, playing across his fair features.

“Come,” Elrohir said, taking his hand at last, threaded his fingers between his and pulled. “We have much to talk about.”


End file.
